


Revka Cadash and the Great Nug Hunt

by Verdigirl



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Cadash-Centric (Dragon Age), Chaos, Chases, Cross-Posted on Tumblr, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Gambling, Gen, Humor, Named Cadash (Dragon Age), Nugs, Tumblr: Writing-prompt-s, Wicked Grace (Dragon Age)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:48:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28373403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Verdigirl/pseuds/Verdigirl
Summary: When Revka Cadash had agreed to a ‘Wicked Grace night with the crew,’ she did not expect it to include a greased nug, fourteen injured dwarves, and a friendly competition devolving into chaos. But what else is to be expected from a Saturday Night with tipsy Carta, and a gold purse too tempting for even Revka to refuse?
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5





	Revka Cadash and the Great Nug Hunt

**Author's Note:**

> "Thank you to Jarakrisafis, who sent me a writing prompt of ‘Carta, twelve injuries, and a greased nug;’ this was so much fun to write. Introducing Revka Cadash, my new Dwarven OC; she’s Jarak’s Inquisitor, Edric ‘Dasher’ Cadash’s, cousin. 

When Revka Cadash had agreed to a ‘Wicked Grace night with the crew,’ she did not expect _this_. She leaned back in her chair, half in the air as she balanced perilously between tipping backwards or slamming into the table. Perhaps the latter would’ve been the better option; she’d seen funerals livelier than this iteration of ‘Saturday Night with Cousin Edric.’

“Ed,” she said, “I’m _bored._ ” He arched his eyebrow over his Wicked Grace cards.

“Go get another drink, then,” he replied, discarding a drake and picking up another card. “Although you’re already tipsy.”

She huffed in outrage, “am _not_.”

“You _are;_ you can’t keep a straight face. Your cheating’s sodding obvious.” Revka’s mouth twitched in amusement. No one in the Cadash clan—not even Edric ‘Dasher’ Cadash, himself—could touch her when she played Wicked Grace. _Sober_ , that is. When tipsy… Everyone, it was said, had their vices; Rev Cadash’s was being unable to keep a straight face when drunk. 

Well, that and sweets. She fished around in her belt pouch and popped yet another nougat in her mouth, toying with her cards. She fumbled through the fuzziness enveloping her for an idea to liven the evening. Drinking alone wasn’t much fun—she rarely drank with the crew on principle, to prevent overfamiliarity. Besides, half-drunk Carta were more trouble than they were worth. They already broke up a fistfight earlier over a card game. She needed something to distract everyone. Revka slammed her (losing) hand of cards on the table, causing several heads to turn.

“Mordhau, Verdin: break out the grease and a mud splasher. Let’s live a little.” She smirked at her cousin, pushing herself away from the table.

“You’re either bored to death, or slightly mad,” Edric replied, clearly amused. “Can’t tell which.”

“Both, sweet cousin, both… and perhaps the slightest bit tipsy.” She sauntered across the back room of their warehouse on the Docks. ‘Greywater Imports,’ it said on the door, which was true—the Cadash clan _did_ deal in import/exports—but their merchandise’s origins were murky at best, and downright illegal at worst. Didn’t stop the Cadashes, however. Nothing did, not even the room spinning as Revka crossed it. 

Mordhau and Verdin reappeared, bearing a squealing nug and a pot of grease. The men cheered when she slathered the nug with grease and made a raunchy joke concerning the last occasion she’d used that much grease for something… something tall, horned, and incredibly muscular. Her hypothetical night with a greased qunari earned her some whoops and laughs.

“Five sovereigns to whoever catches this slippery bastard,” she called.

“Eight sovereigns say you can’t do it,” Edric declared from his seat in the corner, brow arched in challenge. “Too far in your cups, you are. The lot of you!”

She flashed a grin and let the nug loose. It squeaked, scurrying away. It was almost cute, if she ignored the creepy paw-hands and those beady eyes full of indignance. Her niece might like it for a pet, maybe. Her smile fell off her face as several Carta came barreling towards her and the nug. Revka stumbled back. “O-Oi,” she said, “ _oi!_ Slow down, you hear? Slow down—”

Alas, that she had forgotten the chair behind her. She backed right into tripping over it, and the others? Tackled by four hulking dwarva was _not_ how Revka thought she’d die. She probably broke ribs from those fools, those squabbling, drunk fools too busy pommeling each other to focus. She crawled out from beneath them and rolled to her feet, jaw dropping.

It was pure chaos. Grown men and women—assassins, smugglers, deadly mercenaries alike—ran about the room like shrieking children, jumping over benches and faceplanting into the floor as they scrambled after the nug. Crawling under tables. Slipping on spilled drinks. Trampling fingers. Edric simply cackled from his corner, of course: the ‘Boss’ was far too reserved to join in the fun.

A flash of pink darted across her periphery. Revka dove under the table, pouncing on the nug with a triumphant ‘aha,’ but her grip was tenuous. The creature wriggled away, leaving her and her favorite gray shirt grease-stained past salvation. She cursed under her breath.

“Come back,” Revka exclaimed, crawling after it. It ran under the keg table, towards the wooden bars partitioning the rest of the room from the back office. If she hurried, Revka could catch it before it reached the bars. She reached out to snatch, it wriggled away. She tried again, but to no avail. She nearly had it when the nug slipped through the bars to the safety of the office.

“Damn it, get back here,” Revka said, reaching through the bars, her groping hands grasped for the nug cowering just out of reach. She looked about the room. What had begun as a nug hunt had devolved into a wrestling match in one corner, several discouraged dwarva drinking off their sprains, a few sleeping under the tables, and an earnest search in another part of the room. If she stood and opened the door, it would alert the others, and that wouldn’t do, not at all. 

Revka eyed the partition before her: the bars seemed wide enough apart for her to fit. She prided herself on her curves, but she wasn’t large; she could’ve squeezed through these bars, back in her twenties, and she hadn’t changed _that_ much…

Revka Cordelia Cadash learned the hard way that she _had,_ indeed, changed much more than she had realized over the years… and all the sweets she’d eaten had gone to her hips.

Her eyes went wide, the size of platters. The curves she had been so proud of not five minutes prior, it seemed, betrayed her in the worst manner imaginable. Revka sucked in her gut and shimmied, pulling herself through the bars inch by inch. She tripped on her own feet on the way out, landing on her broken ribs.

“Agh!” she bit her knuckle to stifle the shout. “Son of a nug-humping bastard, that _hurt_.” There was a soft coo above her head; Revka craned her neck to see the poor nug, trembling pitifully. Her heart softened.

“Frightened you well, didn’t we?” she asked, slowly extending her hand. The nug flinched.

“Shh, I won’t hurt you,” she whispered, “I think you’ve gone through quite enough in the name of fun.” The nug slowly crept towards her, nuzzling her fingers. She scoffed a laugh.

“Come on, you lucky nug,” she said, gently scooping it up and making for the door. “You’ve made me a nice bit of coin; no soup pot for you.” She balanced the nug on her hip as one did a toddler while digging her key from her belt pouch. She unlocked the door and sauntered into the fray.

“Alright, pay up, fun’s over,” she called, mounting a chair and holding the nug aloft. “Wounded against the wall for treatment. The rest of you, clean up this mess. Verdin, fetch the healer, we have…” Her eyebrows rose in surprise. Fourteen dwarva leaned against the heavy wooden crates and shelves, with injuries ranging from black eyes to sprained wrists and loose teeth.

Revka shook her head and sighed. “Make that two healers, Verdin. Come on, Lucky: you’re getting a bath.” The nug squirmed as she filled a bucket with water and found a mostly in-tact bar of Antivan soft soap she’d ‘borrowed’ from their stock. She plopped down in her seat at her cousin’s table.

“Did I hear you right? ‘Lucky?’ You _named_ it?” Edric asked. “You broke your ribs for that thing.”

She shrugged, scrubbing the nug with a rag. “Won me eight sovereigns, though. Which, ahem…” she tapped the table expectantly. Edric grumbled and tossed the coin on the table, rolling his eyes at her glee.

“Lucky the Nug,” he mumbled. “You’ve definitely drunk too much.”

“Now, now: don’t bad-mouth your nephew, he’s a good little nug—” no sooner had the words left her mouth, did the nug upset the bucket and send a deluge of water cascading across the table and onto the floor. She grimaced when Edric picked up a sopping Wicked Grace card.

“Hang them up to dry,” she said, scrambling to salvage the situation. “They’ll be good as new—oh dear.” The poor Knight of Wisdom’s eyes had run, gray rivulets meandering down his cheeks as though he was in tears.

“‘Lucky.’ He’s _lucky_ he’s not my sodding dinner,” Edric groused, collecting his soggy cards and departing for the office. Revka fell back in her seat, blowing out all her air.

When Revka Cadash had agreed to a ‘Wicked Grace night with the crew,’ she most certainly did not expect _this_. 


End file.
